


One Last Wish

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Holidays, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock December Ficlets 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: It's the holiday season. Sherlock is alone and far from home. He has a couple of wishes and some interesting gifts on his shopping list.





	One Last Wish

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Wish list / Shopping

Coming in so quickly from the bright sun, I remove my sunglasses letting my eyes adjust to the room. Stripes of Venetian blinded sun line the floor as I toss my purchases on the bed. It’s surprisingly warm considering its early December, but then I remember...

I am not home.

This is not London, where I’d be wearing my Belstaff, to warm me against the elements. I should be wondering whether it was so cold enough that I would actually want to wear that infernal ear hat. The holiday season feels so wrong without the cold. Without spiced apple cider. Without Mrs. Hudson’s figgy pudding. The past couple of years she had insisted that John and I join her in the kitchen to grab hold of the whisk with her. Together we gave it three turns around the bowl, one stir for each of us, while making our respective wishes. That last Christmas Hudder’s eyes were on the bowl to ensure we made three complete turns and my eyes were on John.

John, oh John!

He had really got into the spirit of it, that last Christmas. His blue eyes closed, blond lashes fluttering slightly as he made his wish, an indulgent smile on his face. He was so happy. My wish right then and there was for him to always be that happy.

Who knew that I would the one to break that wish?

That I would be the one to die in front of him a few short months later.

And now here I am.

Here where there are blinking colored lights and tinsel on palm trees. Here where I saw a snowman made out of straw and painted white, because it never snows here. Here where just yesterday, I overheard a woman on her mobile planning a picnic for Boxing Day. A picnic. As world traveled as I have been all of my life, I cannot fathom that. This heat so near Christmas is as foreign to me as this city where this strand of Moriarty’s web has taken me. Here where I now sit in a darkened room and wait to dismantle it forever.

No, I am not home.

I am not even myself as I blink, momentarily taken aback at this blond wigged facsimile of myself I pass in the mirror. My transport is at an unhealthy weight even by my standards. Yet a cigarette dangles from my lips, waiting to be lit. I cannot do drugs and can only consume but so much alcohol while on these missions. I cannot risk being impaired no matter how bored I am at times like this when I just watch the clock tick. Considering what my choices are, I have given myself permission to have this one vice. I know John still would not approve, but he would understand. Or at least I hope he will when I tell him.

This will be my second Christmas away him.

I miss London. I miss him. I miss Baker Street. I miss him. I miss Hudders and Greg and Molly. I miss him. Oh god I miss him so much I am momentarily blinded by tears I had not realized had gathered until they fall.

I have to stop this. Get it together Holmes! You’ve no time indulge in this morass of self-pity.

I am grateful when my mobile pings and pounce on it desperate for any distraction.

“Hello Brother Mine.” I answer in what I think is simply tired.

“Oh, is it bad today?”

The concern in Mycroft’s voice nearly throws me right back into my depression. All he heard were three little words from me and he knew. So, I don’t lie.

“Today, yes.” I admit.

“I see. Then you’ll be encouraged to hear, we found the Serbian strand. It's the last strand. I’m gathering more intel before you go in and can be finally finished with all of this. Why don’t you come home in the meantime when this one is finished? I can get you to Mummy and Daddy’s easily for some rest; if you wish.”

“Believe it or not, Mycroft, all I wish for right now is Mrs. Hudson’s figgy pudding.” I want so badly to add and if he can somehow get John to stir the bowl so I know he’s had a hand in it, the only way I can be close to him right now, that would be so fine, but I cannot. I can all but see him in his office, files perfectly arranged in front of him. I can hear Anthea in the background and send appropriate snark instead.

We go over the plans for the next couple of days when he asks about my holiday shopping list. I open the duffle bag and once again check the four Sig Sauers, the Tavor, the lightweight Kevlar, goggles and gloves, some other items and most important the carefully packed C4 and chargers.

“Yes, my holiday shopping list is quite something this season. I do hope the recipients will be as happy to receive my gifts as I will be to give them.” I close the bag.

“I suspect they’ll be dead speechless by your generosity.” Mycroft deadpans. I grin at the horrid pun as we ring off. A moment later I receive a text.

\--Shall I somehow endeavor to have him stir the bowl? MH

I know he texted me so he would not hear the need in my voice we both knew would be there if I vocalized. This is as much for him as for me to save face.

\-- If you feel so inclined.

\--You’ll be home soon, Brother Mine. MH

Forty-eight hours later the explosion is all over local news with authorities looking for a platinum blond suspect. I was already on a plane about to land in Serbia. I know Mycroft had said to wait, but I just want this done already. I need this to be done, so I can come home. So I can see John.

Just another couple of weeks John. I’ll be home and I will say what I did not have the guts to say before I jumped from that roof. The only other wish, my one last wish is to finally say the words to you, John. I will come home. I will tell you “I love you”.

As soon as I’m done with Serbia.

**Author's Note:**

> We all know what happened in Serbia...


End file.
